Chapter 6
Nick was restless. The most productive line of enquiry was obviously Alexander Marsh in Kolkata, assuming Rebecca was right about him misleading her. Someone should be asking Mr Marsh some questions, a task complicated by the fact that the prospective questioner was now sitting in an office thousands of miles away. There was the phone, of course. It had been twenty-four hours since his conversation with Rebecca and she should now be back in Kolkata, talking to the Archaeological Survey of India people about her find. If it wasn’t them at the tomb, then who? He should really wait until Rebecca called him back with an update and then he could contact Marsh, fully briefed. But what the hell, why not talk to Marsh now, anyway?
He checked the time, 1pm. That meant 6.30pm in Kolkata. Surely the India Society had a web page, with some contact details. He googled them and found the page. There was even a phone number for the Secretary’s office listed, so he dialled it. Half a minute passed and then he got a recorded message telling him the office was closed till 10am the following morning. He made a note of the number and decided he would try it again from his flat tomorrow morning, around 6am.
That evening he went to a training session. He hadn’t seen Lauren since their return from Paris. They had spoken on the phone and she had been rather brusque, saying she was on her way to Manchester for a week to do some work. She was obviously still annoyed with his silence on the small matter of her pregnancy, but it wasn’t discussed and they hadn’t spoken since. He didn’t expect to see her tonight, so was surprised when he stepped onto the mat to find her there. She was on the far side of the dojo, eyes closed and kneeling in seiza, the sitting on the heels pose that Aikido students customarily adopt when in meditation or watching the sensei, or teacher, demonstrating. She held her hands in her lap, one over the other and palms up, the whole pose being a way to centre one’s concentration in the hara, or literal centre of the body, just below the navel. This was where the power source was concentrated and where all movement in the art was initiated from.
He thought she looked quite serene. Her blonde hair was tied tightly behind her neck and the white jacket she wore highlighted her fair complexion, accentuating the contours of her cheekbones. All perfectly complemented by the lightly closed, generously shaped and unmistakably feminine mouth. You can look at someone so many times and forget how lovely they are he thought, ruefully. Then she opened her eyes and looked directly at him. The image of serenity was replaced by a barely perceptible pursing of the lips and a questioning stare. He felt a stab of guilt, but smiled back and then started some warm up stretches.
She came over, there was no greeting kiss. He wasn’t sure if she was just observing dojo etiquette or if the omission was deliberate.
‘I thought you were in Manchester,’ he said.
‘Finished early. We need to talk.’
‘I know. Should you be training in your condition?’
‘Oh you remembered I’m pregnant. Well done.’
‘Of course I remembered. Well, should you?’
‘For another week or two. Falling is not recommended, I’ll need to find another form of exercise after that.’
The sensei appeared then, and everyone sat on the edge of the mat and went through the opening ritual of bowing and asking for tuition in Japanese. Lauren sat next to him as the sensei beckoned to another student and together they went over the technique to be practised, alternating the roles of attack and defence. Then it was their turn.
They faced one another. He came at her with an overhead strike and she stepped in close and just outside of him, raising her right arm to deflect his in a downward direction. Then she lowered her arm to keep his where it was and used her left arm to bring his head down and into the curve of her neck and shoulder. He was now off balance and she stepped forward, bringing her right arm up in a sweeping motion which took him under the chin and propelled him backwards. Done with full intention it was a neck-breaker, so there was a level of co-operation and trust needed between attacker and defender. Nick fell into a backward roll and was up on his feet again. She’d come at him fast.
‘Don’t get too enthusiastic, the child might want a father.’
‘Was I enthusiastic? Come on old man, again please.’
Two hours and a few changes of practice partner later, they wound up for the evening.
‘Come back to mine,’ he suggested. ‘We can talk there.’
They got a takeaway and strolled back through Chislehurst Village to the flat. Lauren was in the kitchen, spooning rice and lamb curry from packet to plate. Nick opened the fridge, looking for a bottle of Sancerre he thought should still be there. It was. ‘I knew I had another bottle,’ he exclaimed in triumph. He saw her expression.
‘Ah, no wine for you then.’
‘No, see what we women have to suffer?’
He put the bottle back in the fridge.
‘No need for you to get on the wagon too,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, it won’t last.’
The living room doubled as a dining space, with the table in the corner by the window, overlooking the street. Lauren brought the food through and they sat down to eat. After the recent physical exertion both their appetites were keen and for a minute they focused entirely on lamb curry.
‘Good, as usual,’ said Nick.
‘I’m so hungry. One minute I’m feeling sick and the next I’m starving.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘Throw up and eat of course. Whatever the situation demands.’ She gave him a long look. ‘I’m having this child, Nick. With or without you.’
There was no doubting her resolve. ‘I don’t know what kind of father I’d make. Mine was never there. And as a role model, he had nothing going for him.’
‘You never talk about your family.’
Nick sighed. ‘Nothing to talk about. My brother died and my parents are gone, now.’
‘What happened to your brother?’
‘He was two years younger. One night when we were teenagers, we got drunk and argued. He got on his motorbike and crashed it. Killed himself.’
She saw the pain the admission had caused him, and reached for his hand. ‘Don’t blame yourself. I think you’ll be a wonderful father.’
He managed a smile. ‘It will mean some changes, for both of us.’
‘We’ll work it out.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Just watch us.’
He groaned the next morning as the alarm woke him at 5am. Lauren turned over in bed and mumbled something.
‘I need to make a phone call,’ he explained. ‘Go back to sleep.’
After an orange juice and a shower he was wide awake. He wandered into the living room in a tracksuit bottom and t-shirt and parted the curtains. Chislehurst Village slumbered on, oblivious for another hour at least. He spotted one intrepid insomniac out walking the dog, otherwise the place was deathly quiet. The sun had just come up and it was the moment of transition from darkness to daylight. He loved this time of morning, the stillness and the newness of it, though he was rarely up early enough to enjoy it. He stood there for a minute, just absorbing it. Then he remembered he had something to do.
He made the call and this time there was no answer machine.
‘India Society, how can I help?’ A woman with a cultured Indian pronunciation.
‘I’d like to speak with Alexander Marsh.’ Nick told her who he was. ‘It’s in relation to an investigation I’m carrying out.’
‘I’m afraid Mr Marsh is unwell. He was taken ill yesterday and went to hospital, with stomach pains.’
‘Is it serious?’
‘I don’t know, Mr Severance. I don’t believe so, but he was in a lot of discomfort.’
‘I see.’ This was a setback. ‘Can I leave you my number? I’d very much like to talk to him when he’s feeling better.’
He gave her the details and ended the call. That had gone precisely nowhere. While he was at it he would try Rebecca. Her
phone went straight to voice mail so he left a message, asking her to return the call as soon as she possibly could.
All of this had taken less than fifteen minutes and it wasn’t even 6am, yet. He reset the alarm to give him another hour and went back to bed. He knew that Rebecca would probably disturb him in that time, but it seemed like the best course of action under the circumstances.
A few hours later he was in the office, still waiting for the call. He tried her again, but nothing. He shuffled through the notes on his desk until he uncovered the name and number of her hotel and then he called them. The person he spoke to said he’d check her room and now that he thought about it he hadn’t seen her at breakfast, perhaps she had gone out early and breakfasted elsewhere. Would Nick call back in fifteen minutes?
He did and the receptionist, or whoever it was, sounded puzzled.
‘It’s odd, Detective Chief Inspector. The door to Ms Slade’s room was ajar when I went up. If she went out, she left her bag and her phone behind. And the bed hasn’t been slept in. I’m sure she was here last night, though.’
Alarm bells started ringing. ‘Thank you. If she comes back ask her to call me as a matter of urgency, would you?’
Yvonne Hathaway sat at the far end of the office, and he walked over.
‘I think we’ve lost Rebecca Slade,’ he said.
She looked up in surprise. ‘But I thought you talked to her the day before yesterday, sir.’
‘I did. I expected to talk to her again and now she seems to have left the hotel, without her phone or her bag. It may be nothing, but would you dig me out a number for the Archaeological Survey of India Office in Kolkata?’ Yvonne nodded. ‘Better still,’ he continued, ‘call them yourself. Ask if Rebecca visited them this morning. And tell them we would like to know if they’re working on a site, near a place called Chipra. If they say no, tell them we have some photos they might want to see and get an email address so I can send them on.’
‘Right, I’m on it sir.’
Nick went straight downstairs to find Charlie Stephenson, the liaison officer. He was on the phone, but motioned at Nick to sit. A minute later he finished his call.
‘What can I do for you Nick?’
‘The focus of my case has shifted to India, Charlie. I may need to go out there, and soon.’
Charlie massaged his chin reflectively. ‘We gave up India in 1947, you know. You have no jurisdiction there. You can’t question or arrest anyone.’
‘Yes, I realise that. But it’s the best line of enquiry I have. Whatever Simon Wood was up to in India led directly to his death. And now one of his colleagues who went out there to follow up on his work could also be missing.’
‘All I can do is contact the authorities in Kolkata and put the wheels in motion. But these things take time.’
Nick thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Do what you can for me, Charlie. Better to start the process now and cancel it later, if that’s what we need to do.’
Charlie agreed. ‘Do you have budget for this, by the way?’
‘As SIO I’ll take responsibility for that. One air ticket to Kolkata won’t bankrupt us.’
Charlie held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Nick thanked him and went back to see what Yvonne had to say.
‘No one at the ASI office knows anything about Rebecca, sir. And they don’t have anything going on in Chipra.’ She passed him a post-it note. ‘Email address for a Mr Singh.’
‘Brilliant, Yvonne. Thanks.’
Nick returned to his desk and composed an email, encouraging Mr Singh to visit Chipra at his earliest convenience. The photos should get his attention, he thought. There didn’t seem to be much more of value he could achieve in London. He wondered if it was Sylvie Dajani that Rebecca had heard speaking French, on her way out of the tomb. He had a hunch it just might have been, but Bonnaire had promised to contact him if either Dajani or Le Roux left France and there had been no email or phone call. He would check with Bonnaire anyway and sent another email to the Paris detective, asking for an update.
The last thing to do was get a flight. He started checking availability on line and then belatedly realised he’d need a visa. If he wanted it quickly then that would entail a visit to the Indian Embassy. He delegated the task of finding a flight to Yvonne and then headed back to the flat to pick up his passport and fill in the downloaded application form. This was going to take all day.
By the afternoon of the following day everything was arranged. Bonnaire had replied to his email, saying that although his attempts to contact Le Roux and Dajani had been unsuccessful, there was nothing on record to indicate that they had left the country. He would keep trying. And Mr Singh had also come back to him in a tone that made it clear he was far from convinced of the authenticity of the photos, could Mr Severance assure him they were genuine? Hoax or otherwise, Mr Singh promised to contact a colleague in Patna and ask him to take a look at the site in a day or two. Nick grimaced at that. Mr Singh had not been burdened by any sense of urgency, that much was clear.
His flight was at 9pm. Charlie had promised to let him know once he’d got the name of someone in Kolkata who could help him in an official capacity, but right now he was waiting for an acknowledgement of his request for assistance. For now, that meant that the only progress Nick was likely to make in connection with Rebecca’s disappearance would depend entirely on goodwill. Still, once he’d established her whereabouts he would feel a lot better about the situation and if Mr Singh still had doubts, he would go to Chipra himself. He’d get answers one way or another.
Lauren drove him to the airport.
‘How long will you be away?’ she asked.
‘Just long enough to find out what happened to Rebecca Slade. And once I’ve talked to one or two other people, I might have some new leads to follow up. We’re getting nowhere at the moment.’
‘What about this discovery of hers?’ She had seen the photos Rebecca had sent and he’d brought her up to speed on the details of the case. As he was leaving the country, he felt he owed her an explanation.
‘I’m pretty sure that whoever was at the site when Rebecca took those photos will be able to provide me with some insight into Simon Wood’s murder. That’s my main objective.’
Lauren cast him a worried look, before returning her eyes to the road ahead. ‘I thought you had no jurisdiction in India. You’re a tourist, not a policeman. Don’t do anything rash, please.’
He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, rash is the last thing I’ll be.’